


The Destined Hero & The Half-Orc

by ohmyvalar



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Backstory, Banter, Character Study, Fantasy, Immortals, Interspecies Relationship(s), M/M, Orcs, True Names, Worldbuilding, characters launching into pseudo-philosophical monologues, kind of? but not in a v kinky way tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 14:48:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21255095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyvalar/pseuds/ohmyvalar
Summary: Upon overhearing a prophecy revealed by the Princess Consort, Varrick the half-Orc sets off to find the Destined Hero on a quest to destroy the Forest King.-“I have come to speak with the Destined Hero. Are you him?” Varrick repeated solemnly.“Uh, yes? That’s me.” The golden-haired man replied nonchalantly. He seemed neither offended nor very much interested in his surprise visitor.The half-Orc took a deep breath. This was it, then. He would be the one to bring the Destined Hero out of his hermithood, and march on the Forest King. History would remember this moment, no matter what came after.





	The Destined Hero & The Half-Orc

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Irusu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irusu/gifts).

> Happy Halloween, irusu! Hope u enjoy this really last minute treat!!
> 
> Content warnings with potential spoilers in endnotes

“Stop! Stop - ! Please, don’t kill me!” 

The half-Orc towered over the groveling goblin. In his hands he gripped a double-handled greatsword, as tall as a man and twice as powerful. Its tip, with its blade as wide as a human handspan, was already tinged with yet-uncongealed blood. 

The half-Orc paused, collecting his breath. Goblins were physically negligible but swift, crafty creatures. This one had given him a good, long chase before he’d finally cornered it. Now it was time to end this drawn-out hunt before it wasted any more of his time. 

“Wait - you - you have Orc blood in you, don’t you?” The goblin babbled out in a panic as its predator approached once more, greatsword in hand. “Wh - why are you fighting against your own kind? The Forest King - our dread lord would want an Orc of your strength on their side! If you let me go, I could put in a good word with our lord - !”

_Your own kind?_

The words reverberated in the half-Orc’s mind, raising a wave of red-hot rage. 

The endless childhood taunts about his monstrous father. The stares at his ears, which might pass for Elven if they weren’t so misshapen. The fear that passed over strangers’ faces when they saw his Orcish stature. It hadn’t mattered that he’d lived among them all his life; grown up with their children, and even had a human name: Varrick, given to him by his unfortunate human mother. 

To the people of his village, he had been and always would be another half-Orc abomination. 

Varrick ground down hard on his teeth. 

“I’m nothing like you.” He said. And he heaved his greatsword with fatal force, finishing the job in one last fell swing.

-

It had all begun two decades ago, when the shadowy menace nicknamed the Forest King had first begun terrorizing the forests of Northfort. 

Back then the officials in Capitol City had dismissed the reports of disappearing flora and fauna as exaggerated rumors carried back from the distant reaches of the realm which Northfort served as a border to. 

But then came reports of missing men, and finally a slaughter of border guards and civilians alike. Rumors became evidence-based reality as survivors fled back to the Capitol and tearfully reported all they had experienced to the Princess Consort. 

They told of all the horrors the rumors had described, and more; until it all came to a head one dark winter night when an army of Orcs, goblins and other evil creatures swept into the inhabited areas near Northfort and sacked everything they could find. 

At their head was a dark figure, the mysterious being they had jokingly called the Forest King. But their mirth turned to screams as the Forest King’s army slaughtered all in sight. 

Recognizing the seriousness of the matter at hand, the Princess Consort had sent the Capitol’s best military unit off to Northfort to ascertain the situation and rescue any other survivors. 

No living being would hear from them again. 

For months no news came from the elite unit sent to Northfort. The furthest regions of the realm were too sparsely inhabited, too remote for information to travel at normal speeds. The Princess Consort’s concerns privately grew, but most of the realm were happy to toss the mysterious matter out of their minds and go on with their daily lives. 

Then came the waves of refugees from villages further and further away from Northfort, all seeking asylum in the Capitol. With them came bits and pieces of the horror that was spreading from Northfort with every passing day: the survivors of Forest King and their army were so terrified by their experiences that they wanted to get as far away from the North as they could. Most villages on the way here had shunned them, thinking they were insane or conspiracal spies plotting political insurgency; they explained. 

But the Princess Consort knew the truth when she saw it, especially when it was replicated in the trembling testimonies of hundreds of refugees. 

She made a personal visit to the wise oracle in the Southern Lands, who revealed the vision from her sightless eyes: the dread lord had come, and annihilation was to rain on all. They were the prophesied destroyer of the world from the ancient scrolls, long premonited by those who knew the art of divination. There would be no life as any now living knew it once their army conquered the realm. 

The Princess Consort’s face paled as the oracle spoke. She knew as well as any other in the realm that the oracle did not speak lightly, and rarely in error. Was there to be no way out of this doom her prophecy spelled? 

_And yet there is hope,_ the oracle had continued. 

A Destined Hero, possessed of unparalleled power, was fated to be the Forest King’s only equal opponent. If this Hero took a stand against the dread lord, the realm would be saved from their dark destruction. 

Her embers of hope rekindled, the Princess Consort quickly asked where they could find this Hero. 

_And yet there is a catch,_ replied the oracle, as cryptic as ever.

The Hero had to _choose_ to fight. And that, the oracle assured, would not be a decision the Destined Hero would be easily persuaded to come to. 

At first the Princess Consort had doubted her words, wise though the oracle was known to be. Immediately after leaving the Southern Lands, she commanded her subjects to search the realm for the Destined Hero, according to the oracle’s descriptions. She was confident that with the riches and fame she could award the Hero, no refusal would come her way.

But the oracle had spoken the truth once again. The Hero rejected her bounteous rewards, and turned down any protesting alternative offers in advance. 

And so, even as the Forest King and their army continued to ravage the realm, the Princess Consort had kept the Hero’s identity a secret. There was no sense in alarming the people to a false hope that would never materialize. In the meantime, she did all she could to contain the Forest King’s influence with the Capitol’s army and sanctuary. 

And for a decade now things had remained this way, with the Forest King’s destruction spreading further across the realm with every passing day. To the inhabitants of the realm, these were dark days. The end days, even, if some among the population were to be believed.

But not if Varrick had any say in it. 

The half-Orc had discovered the existence of the Hero from a drunk official of the Capitol, and afterwards accosted the unsteady man to ascertain as much information as he could regarding this purported savior’s identity. Several threats of creative torture later, he had wringed all he could out of the blabbermouth.

The next day Varrick was on his way to the location the official had given him.

Presently, the half-Orc pushed through the last thicket obstructing his way to the Hero’s home in the middle of the woods.

A scenic glade came into view. It was sizeable and consisted of a few acres of crop-filled plots of land which led up to a tiny hill - of enough size and height on a whole that it had probably been shrouded by a charm to avoid discovery from the outside. On the top of the hill lay a finely constructed cottage, complete with in-door lighting and glass windows. It looked like an idyllic land out of a fairytale. 

Varrick was old enough to know now that his mother’s fairytales had never existed anywhere except in a despairing old woman’s wildest dreams. 

The half-Orc stormed down the rows of crops and other fauna, bellowing aloud: “Hero! I have come to request an audience with you!”

For a long minute the glade was silent except for the usual sounds of the forest buzzing in the background. Varrick stood his ground at the foot of the hill with all the grim seriousness of a soldier awaiting the oncoming rush of enemy forces. 

Not that the half-Orc had much experience in that. Any hopes of conscription were dashed once human drafting officers took one look at his lineage. And there was no way in hell he would pledge himself to any army the other half of his family tree belonged to. 

At last, the door to the cottage on the top of the hill opened - just a slight crack. A head full of golden curls stuck out through the gap. 

“And what might _you_ want now?” The voice was light, but with enough power to carry all the way down to the visitor. As the answerer spoke, he stepped out from behind the door into view. 

Varrick narrowed his eyes, trying his best to make out the features of the answerer. _Golden hair, clean-shaven, slim build…_ He looked more like an idle noble or a gigolo than an avenging Hero with the strength to defeat a foe as fearsome as the Forest King. Still, the half-Orc kept his doubts to himself and stoically waited for the boy to make his way downhill at a leisurely pace. 

As he walked into range of sight, Varrick was forced to reevaluate. 

Curls an ethereal shade of lightly spun gold, chin as bare as a youth’s, and a body that was lean and lanky; those observations did not change upon closer inspection, though they grew in detail. 

But this was no boy. Varrick instinctively knew this; not just from the ageless quality of his face, which was well-formed like a sculptor’s bust - but from the aura he exuded. 

The half-Orc had met folks and creatures of many strokes in his life thus far. His intuition had rarely failed him; the fact that he was still standing here alive was proof of that in this harsh world. And right now those instincts told him that the person standing before him now was more than he had assumed. 

“I have come to speak with the Destined Hero. Are you him?” Varrick repeated solemnly. 

“Uh, yes? That’s me.” The golden-haired man replied nonchalantly. He seemed neither offended nor very much interested in his surprise visitor. 

The half-Orc took a deep breath. This was it, then. He would be the one to bring the Destined Hero out of his hermithood, and march on the Forest King. History would remember this moment, no matter what came after. 

“You’ve been cloistered out here in the woods with your magic - you must not yet know of the horrors that are roiling throughout the land daily now. The Forest King, dread lord from the old prophecies, has risen. The people of the realm live in helpless fear everyday. You are the fated Hero; you must fulfill your destiny and save them -”

“Uh-huh. So what is it, then? What do you actually want me to do?” The Hero interrupted, scratching his golden curls. His expression left no doubts about what he was feeling: utter boredom. 

“To convince you to leave this false peace and face the Forest King, Hero!” Varrick responded, genuinely shocked and offended. 

The Hero rolled his blue eyes. “Yeah, yeah. What else is anyone ever here for? Oh, Hero!” He mimicked the high-pitched, highborn accent of the Princess Regent. “The realm is in danger! You must lead our army against the Forest King!” The Hero sighed dramatically, his voice returning to its normal tone. “Turned her down too, by the way. And she had a much more promising reward and… pleasing visuals too, just so you know. What makes you think you can offer me anything better? 

Varrick set his jaw. “If you won’t come nicely with me, I’ll have to make you, Hero.”

The Hero smiled. It made his blue eyes twinkle, but in that moment Varrick felt nothing but righteous anger. “Trust me, you wouldn’t be able to.” Then, seeing the unchanged stony determination in the half-Orc’s eyes, he sighed. “Or don’t. Try me for yourself!” 

He made a “come at me!” gesture with outstretched hands, feet spread carelessly apart. 

_You’re wide open,_ the half-Orc thought vindictively, primal instincts kicking in. Maybe he’d got the wrong location. There was no way this sarcastic, indifferent pretty-boy was any kind of Destined Hero. Still, it wouldn’t go amiss to teach this insolent upstart a lesson. 

Anger made him reckless. Besides, he saw no need to guard against an opponent who clearly didn’t know enough about fighting to even prepare himself for an attack. With a roaring cry, the half-Orc rushed in and swung a powerful fist into his opponent’s face. 

\- Or, at least, he tried to. 

At the very last second, the Hero moved in a blur. It should have been impossible - but the attacker’s fist missed its mark. 

When Varrick reared back to reassess the situation, he found his target standing right back where he was, smiling slyly. 

Not one to start devising another plan when he’d not yet exhausted the strength of his fists, the half-Orc went at it again. 

This time, however, he feint the same move with his fist - only to kick his knee up in an uppercut instead. 

And still the Hero’s form shifted once more just before the hit connected; but this time it was just that bit slower enough for Varrick to feel the strange ripple of power which seemed to bend and reshape itself around his knee before safely retreating away. 

Varrick staggered before regaining his balance. The Hero stood before him again - but the half-Orc could swear he saw a hint of amused admiration in his opponent’s gleaming eyes. Still they exchanged not a single word. The Hero would not be persuaded this way. 

One last hit, then. He wouldn’t back down like this, not without landing or receiving a single hit in return. 

Letting out a feral roar, the half-Orc charged towards his target one last time. 

He pulled his fist back and swung in a forceful arc. The target before him did not move an inch. For a second it seemed as though he would finally land a solid blow. Then, out of nowhere - he hadn’t seen him move at all - an overwhelming force took hold of his adjoining arm, effectively freezing it in place. He strained, but it was as immovable as a mountain. 

“That’s quite enough now,” came the mild remark. 

Confounded and in a state of high agitation, it took the half-Orc too much time to regain any sense of his surroundings. When he finally did, Varrick found himself firmly pinned, caught in a lock around the arm by the Hero. 

He stared at their adjoined arms disbelievingly. The Hero’s arm had to be thinner by an inch around than the half-Orc’s. Yet Varrick’s arm wouldn’t budge, no matter how much force he exerted. 

“You understand now?” The Hero was looking up at him. There was nothing contemptuous in his tone, merely the wry acceptance of one for whom everything about their encounter had gone exactly as expected. 

Varrick snarled, baring his teeth. The gesture revealed his misshapen canines; blunt and curved like a boar's. He was beyond words now. Defeat always had that effect on him. He supposed it was just another cursed trait he'd inherited from his father; the beast in him waiting to die panting in a pool of its own blood. 

"Go now," he told his defeated opponent. "You shouldn't come back here again. If it's a fight you want, there'll be plenty of that to be had near the end. This place isn't for people like you to disturb."

Then the Hero released him, as casually as if it'd taken nothing of his strength at all. 

The half-Orc stumbled, then keeled over to the ground. The one-sided exchange of blows had left him more drained than he’d expected. Did his sudden exhaustion have something to do with the Hero? 

He didn’t know. He didn’t have enough knowledge about this place, the Hero, or even the Forest King he was so desperate to fight. 

_The only thing I know for sure is… I won’t…_

The last thing he saw before darkness closed over his eyes was the Hero’s golden curls bent over him, crowned by the sun like a shining halo. 

_… I won’t die for nothing._

-

Varrick panted heavily, dazed from where he lay on the ground, utterly defeated. Before coming here, he hadn’t even been sure that this Destined Hero, if they truly existed, was anything but a fraud. But now he knew. 

This Hero, no matter how much he looked like a rich pretty-boy, was the real deal. 

After a while, the half-Orc finally recovered enough from the thorough beating to heave himself onto his feet. 

“Hero!” He shouted again. But there was no response from the cottage. Only the sounds of nature from the surrounding woods could be heard. 

So Varrick set himself down by a rock at the base of the hill, and waited.

The evening sun dipped beneath the horizon to the cries of birds overhead winging home. The sky darkened into a shade of indigo pleasing to the eye. Stars, winking like silver earrings, dotted the indigo canvas. It was… beautiful, unlike the smoke-torn city nightsky. 

_Earrings?_

Like the earrings his mother had left to him on her deathbed - the only prized possessions she could truly call her own. The same ones he’d sold to pay for his journey out into the world. The familiar chill of disillusionment settled back into Varrick’s bones as he made the connection.

Beauty was something he didn’t have the privilege to appreciate. 

When Varrick next came to himself, it was to the sound of birds chirping once more. Morning had come. But the life the sunlight brought was an illusion of peace, dimming with every passing day; he reminded himself. Soon the Forest King’s shadow would fall over the entire realm and bring destruction to all. 

A thin layer of morning fog told him that it was early yet. Varrick glanced up the hill. There were warm lights visible through the glass windows of the cottage, and faint sounds of life from within. Good. A coward the Hero might be - or perhaps an over-patient mentor fond of giving long tests of courage - but at least he wasn’t a lazy oaf who slept in. 

“Hero!” Varrick called out again. His low baritone echoed out in the peaceful woods. A few birds fluttered away in a hurry, alarmed by his voice - too close to the guttural howls of skulking predators. 

There was no reply. For a split second he thought he saw a shadow block out the light at one of the windows, but it disappeared too quickly for Varrick to be sure. Other than that brief sight, there was no sign of any response. 

Varrick sat back down on his rock grimly. Whatever it took to convince the Hero to come with him - he would do it. Even the Destined Hero couldn’t be self-sufficient forever. Sooner or later he would have to come out to hunt, or to tend to his crops. Varrick would outwait him. 

He went deeper into the woods to hunt as the afternoon sun rose in the sky. There was plenty of prey to be found here: from swift squirrels to majestic deer, the wildlife had seen too little of hunters to know to escape. That would all change if the Forest King had his way. Varrick didn’t think a nature-related namesake would stop the dread lord from razing these woods to the ground in the name of total annihilation. 

When he returned to the foot of the hill there was smoke rising from the cottage’s chimney. In minutes the smell of home-cooked food wafted downhill. “Cheers,” Varrick replied grimly, as he roasted fresh venison over a self-made fire. 

Two more days passed in the same pattern of non-contact. Hero and half-Orc went about their daily routines a hill apart, each painfully conscious of the other’s presence. 

On the third day the Hero finally came down from the cottage. 

_At last._ Varrick stood up from his rock and strode over to meet him, grimly prepared for the that must follow. The calm before the storm was over. Now the time for action was come, and the honorable death that he had made his life’s purpose would soon be fulfilled in carnage. 

The Hero stood waiting for him with hands fisted on either side of his proportionally trim waist. He wore a look of wry amusement. “So - you’re still here, huh?”

Varrick did not derive any amusement from the situation. “Hero. I told you I would not leave until I had accomplished my purpose.” 

The Hero laughed and shook his golden head. “Still this? Even after I knocked you flat on your back last time?”

The half-Orc pressed his lips into a grim line. “I won’t give up. You can’t stay cooped up in there forever; you’ve got to eat. And every time you come down here to harvest or water your crops, I’ll be here waiting to change your mind. The realm needs you to fight.” Although now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen the Hero water his crops once in the past three days.

The Hero smiled. Once again, those blue eyes danced with playful mirth. He snapped his long fingers and magically - as if by some kind of advanced charm - little clouds began raining water down on the plots of crops. “Don’t you worry about that.”

Varrick stiffened. He’d known of course - from their first fight - that the Hero must be an extraordinarily powerful mage to be able to reflect that much brute force seemingly effortlessly. But he’d never seen - nor even heard - of any mage being able to summon the weather at will on this level. And for something so mundane as showing off! He doubted the result of this fight would be any different, but he would try. He had to.

“Oh - I’m not here just to laugh at your despondent self. I could’ve - and did, in fact - done that from back in the cottage.” The Hero continued, seeing Varrick’s tense expression. “No, no! On the contrary - your actions have rather… aroused my interest, I must say. I’d like you to come in for tea. What do you say to that?”

-

The inside of the cottage was every bit like something out of a fairytale like the glade itself had been. Varrick took in the extravagantly decorated interior, trying not to knock into the delicate chandeliers swinging from the painted ceilings. The master of the cottage gestured for the half-Orc to take a seat on a chair with ornate handles, and sat himself down across from his guest.

Smiling not-so-privately at the half-Orc’s obvious unease amidst the cottage’s opulence, the Hero went straight to the point. “What’s all this to you anyways? You’re… half-Orc, if my sense is right. And I always am.” There was no boastful pride in the Hero’s voice, only a matter-of-fact statement. 

Of course. It only made sense to the half-Orc that he should know that about him. He was the Destined Hero, after all.

Someone worthy for Varrick to share his heaviest burdens with. 

The half-Orc took a heavy breath, and began to tell his story.

“My father was an Orc from the Eastlands; one of the scattered survivors of the Orcian army the late King broke on his blade. He and the remainder of his band were nomads, living off robbing those unwise enough to wander in the night. They never left any living man to tell their tale - and so they mostly managed to evade the hand of justice. 

My mother’s village was a few settlements beyond their hunting range. Her people had been safe for a decade since the King drove the Orcs and other creatures of darkness back into the shadows. She should have been safe. 

And so she would have been, had her husband not elected to pursue greed over security. He had heard rumors of a vein of gold found in the mountains a few villages east. Some miners had successfully derived a profitable sum from their prospecting there. And so the husband, made a fool by the promise of riches, took his wife and set off there. 

But the rumors had failed to mention that these were the very same mountains the veteran Orc band haunted. 

Had it been a malicious rumor purposely spread to my mother’s husband by one of his enemies in the village? Or a vile trick by the Orcs, who had devised a scheme to lure more victims into their grasp? Or - worst of all - had there truly been gold to be found in those mountains after all? 

It doesn’t matter. 

The result was always going to be the same. 

My mother and her husband went up into the mountains. There were humans there still, of course. Hardy men and women, grimly determined to brave the dangers of Orc attacks in exchange for a livelihood and a place to live. Most were outlaws themselves. My mother and her husband must have been like sheep among a pack of wolves. Given enough time, the locals might have made a move on the newcomers themselves. 

But the Orcs didn’t wait to give them that chance.

They came in the dark of the night. 

The couple had moved into a tiny shed loaned to them by the locals, no doubt at the extortionistic price of con-men. If there were beds - even if they were made of straw - my mother must have slept on the floor. I can’t imagine her husband could have cared for her enough to share, knowing how he treated her after it all. 

Maybe they were asleep, or maybe they were still willing themselves to forget the aches in their bodies from the hard day of work prospecting in the rough mountains. 

As I said, it doesn’t matter. None of it could have changed the ending of that night. 

The Orcs broke into the shed without any disguise of stealth. They were accustomed enough to the craven customs of men that they knew it was actually beneficial to them to be loud in their operations. No one would dare to come near when they heard the telltale sounds of an Orc raid. 

Screams. Roars. The sound of dull Orcian blades hacking through blood and bone. All of those terrible sounds must have rang out in that shed that night. By the end of the hour the Orcs would have taken any coin or possessions of any worth, and maybe a few limbs as well. 

But it wouldn’t be over yet. 

Orcs aren’t known to discriminate. No one will know for sure, but perhaps the Orcs took their turn with my mother’s husband as well before the end. But well - if they did, it didn’t stop them from killing him afterwards; as they had with so many countless others before. 

All that is known is that my mother left those mountains with child that night. 

No one knows how she could’ve survived. Orcs aren’t known to leave survivors. Perhaps she feigned death, there beside the corpse of her foolish husband. Perhaps the Orcs believed her act. 

But somehow, my mother escaped. Down the mountain she fled, in the dead of the night, somehow managing to evade all the vile creatures there. 

By the time she made it back to her village, she was already beginning to show with child. She must have known there was no point in denying it. No human-Orc child would be able to pass off as either one or the other. 

So she told the villagers about everything that had befallen her. 

And watched as her neighbors, until that moment still wearing expressions of concern and sympathy, turned away from her in disgust. 

It was as if she was tainted.

She never turned any of the anger and helplessness she must have felt towards me. I suppose she saw something of herself in me, and managed somehow to muster up affection. But sometimes… As I grew older, I noticed the times when she would flinch away from me when my shadow darkened the door; when it was too dark to make sure that I was only her son and not another raiding Orc. And every night when I looked into the mirror I saw the parts of me which I couldn’t see in her, and hated every single one of them. 

I went up into those mountains, a few years ago. That was right before I left the village. Half of my neighbors told me I was only going to get myself killed, while the other half accused me of going back to join my father’s race. But I went anyway. I was finally old enough to understand the full ramifications of what had happened on that one accursed night, and why my mother never truly recovered from it.

I went there with the full knowledge and preparation to kill them all, the entire Orc pack, or die trying. I couldn’t erase my Orc blood from within myself, no matter how badly I wanted to. But I could at least avenge my mother for the horrors she had endured until her dying day.

But they weren’t there any longer. Only the locals were left. They told me that the Orcs had been slowly moving towards Northford, where the mysterious Forest King was amassing forces of darkness. 

After that I couldn’t stay in the village any longer. There was nothing left for me there.

I wandered the roads and towns until I heard a rumor about this glade - and you, Hero.

That’s how I came here. And that’s how I met you.”

Varrick finished. Eyes lowered, he reached out and took a sip of tea, although he had never drank such fancy beverages before and fully expected to hate it. It tasted… bittersweet on his tongue. Bitter with the pain the storytelling had forced him to relive, but sweet like the sense of relief he suddenly felt. “I’ve… Never told anyone that whole story before.” He confessed, longing to chase that feeling of release. After another mouthful of tea, he dared a glance sideways at the master of the house.

The Hero looked… moved. It was a pretty look on his already pretty-looking face; his blue eyes widened, and his red lips fell apart. “I… Somehow didn’t expect that. Thank you for sharing that with me. Varrick.”

The half-Orc shifted in his seat, suddenly flustered. He had the ridiculous urge to say a platitude like “it’s nothing”, only of course it wasn't nothing. It was only his whole damn sorry life. 

“Well, now that you’ve told me your story, I think it’s only fair for me to - regale you with the tale of my own humble self,” the Hero continued, not looking humble one bit. He inched closer to his guest over the low table. Varrick fidgeted at the shortened distance between them, unusual for him in any situation except a fight. 

The Hero began in a soothing, languid tone; as if reciting a fairy tale.

“Once upon a time, at the beginning of the universe, there was the Creator. They came to consciousness in a world where they did not know anything to have come before them, and so concluded that it was made for them alone to play with as they see fit. 

Now the Creator soon got bored of being the only sentient being in existence. So with a snap of their fingers, they brought their first creations into the world. These First Creations were made in their image - eternally ageless and formless. And here’s an important rule of creation to remember: once a sentient being has been created, even the almighty Creator cannot unmake them again by will alone. Some among these First learnt to take advantage of this loophole and have since become the greatest enemies to life that came after them. 

The First were allowed by the Creator to craft their own toys. Unlike the Creator, who though undoubtedly omniscient, is very much possessed of one single consciousness, each First had their own idea of the companions they wanted. Each created their own type of being; from this second race sprung mythological creatures and minor immortals. Unlike the beings that had come before them, this race were immortal only in the sense that they would not age with the passage of time. As many among them soon learnt, their mortal bodies were very much destructible. 

Among this varied race were two creations who I shall draw your attention to, curious soul. Now, don’t frown at me like that! I’m getting to the good part.

The first of them is the being is what you now call the Forest King. They were formed by one of those First Creations who later split ways from the almighty Creator, and accordingly possessed the same dark and destructive nature. The Forest King served their master for eons until their mortal vessel was destroyed in the Last War between the First Creations. Thereafter the First faded away from the mortal plane, on which the Creator then brought the first flora and fauna to life. But the Forest King’s spirit endured, and is reforming itself now once more. And that’s the root of all your problems.

And who was the other creation, you ask? - Well, that was me. 

I was created to be the companion of a First who was one of the most fearsome forces during the Last War. On the battlefield I fought by their side, pitting my destructible body against First and my brethren alike. Back then I was just as bloodthirsty and insatiable as my master was. But by the end of the War, we had both changed our minds. 

My master vanished from the physical world with the rest of their race, while I was left behind to remain with the survivors of my brethren.

Left behind, with my lost thoughts and fractured self. Severed from my master for the first time in my existence I was a puppet with cut strings. For a time I wandered the still-burning plains of the physical world alone.

But those of us who had survived the War soon found our own way. Without our masters we grew to develop our own will. Some paired up with old allies or foes and went about their days together. Others disappeared off on divergent paths, not to be seen for millennia.

I was one of those who foraged on alone. Now, you must be thinking: wasn’t it lonely? But the truth is, I appreciated the independence of life alone after having been tied to a being I owed absolute obedience to for as long as I was sentient. 

So I wandered the mortal plane, searching for my own place. And every time I found it in a place of peace. This isn't my first abode; although it has served me for more years than your line has walked this earth. Nor will it be the last.

But here I shall remain until its time runs out."

The Hero paused. Varrick, who had been roused from his pleasant rumination by the premonition of this whole narrative ending in another refusal, impatiently interrupted: “None of that changes the fact that the world needs you right now! Even if you really are…”

“Even though I’ve told you I’m a being that transcends your race? Huh, I’d have thought you mortals would be more perturbed by that… Maybe I really have been away from civilization for too long.” The Hero enunciated the word civilization as if it were his equivalent of a deadly plague.

“Did you tell the Princess Consort this story too?”

“Nah."

“Because it wouldn't have mattered to her either?" 

"On the contrary. I got the feeling that she's not the type to let things go so easily. She has too many resources at her disposal; it would be troublesome if she discovered some weakness to use against me in one ancient tome or another."

"It doesn't matter to me either. Whether you're an immortal like you say or a delusionary egomaniac." Varrick leaned into his host's space earnestly. He filed the admission that the Hero had self-proclaimed weaknesses away for later use. "I trust what my body remembers. You are strong. That's all I need to know."

The Hero reclined back into his seat. It was getting late outside, the sky-blue sky warming into a saffron sunset. The last rays of the sun filtered the Hero's blond locks in an orange wash. 

"And?" He enquired with faux-politeness, voice as nonchalant as ever. 

Frustration boiled anew in the half-Orc, threatening to spill over into rage. "The world needs your help! The Forest King will be the end of us unless someone like you steps up to face him. And only you can! If you can believe in all that stuff you just told me you can believe in being the Destined Hero. You just have to _do_ something about it!" 

In his agitation he had stood up from his chair, thrusting himself into the Hero’s face. He didn’t realize how close they were until the Hero leaned in even closer, still sitting down. 

“A-ah…” Varrick looked down into the Hero’s suddenly too-close eyes. At this distance - or lack thereof - he could see the golden specks which ringed around the clear, blue depths of his irises. Did humans usually have them - had he just never noticed? Or was this another proof of the superhuman origin? 

"Please don't think I'm making light of your plight after what you've entrusted me with, Varrick. But the truth is that anyone you can think of can and will suffer a tragic fate. That little girl back in your home village? She could be dying to a stray sword-stroke even now, caught in the crossfire of an argument between her village elders. It's simply just as likely as she is to prosper and become the richest twelve year old in the realm tomorrow. I think that sort of balances it out, doesn't it? You mortals and your infinite potential."

The Hero didn’t blink once throughout his speech. Varrick felt his cheeks begin to heat as he continued to stare up at the half-Orc. He opened his mouth to argue, but his host pressed a finger to his lips and Varrick abruptly forgot his words. The finger was fine-boned and surprisingly warm. The half-Orc had forgotten how a gentle touch from another living being could feel. 

His host took the chance to continue with his explanation. 

“We’re only little pieces in a great, grand plan beyond my prediction - and certainly beyond your understanding, you mortals. You said you believe in prophecy, don’t you? Then you should know that there’s no such thing as choice. Everything’s already done and decided, and we’re only ever marching on the ordained path.” 

With that, the Hero settled back into his seat, removing his finger from the half-Orc’s lips in the process. Varrick told himself that he didn’t miss his warmth. “But that’s enough about me again. What about you? You told me that you can’t go back to your village. But the world - even just your mortal plane - is a big enough place for anyone to find somewhere for themselves. I should know. Why are you so fixated on fighting the Forest King?”

The Hero’s posture was relaxed, but his blue eyes were narrowed in genuine curiosity. Varrick hesitated for another moment, his instinct for secrecy tensing his spine into a taut line. He’d never told anyone this; never uttered it out loud, even just to himself. Why indeed? Why had he sold the last of his mother’s prized possessions for road fare here? Why had he set his entire life’s purpose on facing the Forest King and spared no thought for anything that could come after? But then in his heart of hearts he had always known why. 

“I…” Varrick clenched his hands into fists - then relaxed until they hung limply by his sides. “I don’t intend on coming back. Alive. Or at all. I’m fine if it all ends with fighting the Forest King. I said I wanted to avenge my mother for the life she led. And that’s true. There’s nothing left for me.” 

A moment of stillness passed between the two. The dying rays of sunlight slithered out of the cottage as darkness reigned outside. Inside the cottage, the overhead chandeliers cut strips of stark light against the rest of the Hero’s face, which was obscured in the shadows. Varrick stood immobilized, eyes dull and downcast. There it was then. That was his ultimate gambit. He had nothing else to offer; he could only hope that his self-destructive urges would somehow elicit some misguided sympathy from the Hero. 

“You…” The Hero’s voice was slow - and calm, like the bubbling sea before a tsunami rose in devastating waves. “What do you even know about living?”

Drowning in his thoughts, Varrick jumped when he felt the Hero’s finger on his lips once more. But this time it wasn’t merely a passive warmth against him. Instead, he felt it smooth over his lips the Hero was prying them apart and driving his thumb in through the slit. 

“... !?” 

Varrick felt heat burn his cheeks once again as the intruding finger pressed into his tongue with increasing pressure. He didn’t understand - what did this have to do - what was the Hero doing!?

“See?” His nervous eyes flicked down at his seated host. The Hero’s handsome face was glowing with a self-satisfied smirk. “You don’t even know what I’m doing to you now, do you? Tell me, have you ever had sex?”

“... W-what?!” The half-Orc nearly bit down on the finger in his mouth in his agitation to reply. His village was… Well, even in his traditional village not everybody had kept their liaisons secret. But who in their right mind would want to be attached to a half-Orc, much less be intimate with one? Everyone knew that Orcs were… That Orcs were… 

“A proper virgin, then.” His host straightened in his seat. “Although I certainly can’t see why.” 

Before Varrick could say anything else, the Hero was pulling him down into a crushing kiss. 

“- Mmmmhh!” It was all the half-Orc could do in protest as his host entangled his tongue in his mouth. But his shock and initial revulsion soon gave way to something else as the Hero proceeded to wrap a hand around Varrick’s neck and twist another in his short-shorn hair. 

A hot lick of fire shocked its way up the half-Orc’s body and settled somewhere in his gut. 

Was this what the Hero wanted? … Sex? With _him?_ The thought was absurd and unnatural, but it wasn’t repulsive to him now like it was when he thought about it alone. No, in fact - his body was reacting in a way that clearly signified his interest, no matter how much his mind struggled to comprehend the concept. 

No, that didn’t matter. The Hero had just dealt Varrick another card against himself. And there was no way in hell that the half-Orc was going to give it up. 

He _was_ going to face the Forest King. And to do so, he _had_ to convince the Hero to leave this place with him. 

Giving himself over to his instincts, Varrick tilted the Hero’s head back and took over the lead. 

The Hero let him push him down onto his seat, soft and pliant as putty, even though the half-Orc knew from experience that he could’ve been thrown across the room by now if the Hero had willed it so. 

Instead, his host threw his arms around the half-Orc’s shoulders and urged him on. 

His breaths coming to him in gasps now, Varrick chased the taste of the inside of the Hero’s mouth. Strawberries, cream, cake; and something he had never tasted before anywhere else… He didn’t know. He didn’t know what he was doing anymore. Gods, the Hero was so soft and supple under his silken shirt… Feverishly, Varrick mapped his unmarked skin with his own outsized hands. The realization that he could cover half his upper torso in one stretched palm made him shiver. 

It all seemed so right, so natural to follow the instincts which urged him to press harder, touch more - and the encouraging moans which poured out of the Hero’s mouth only spurred him on. The world had narrowed itself down to the two of them, neither the half-Orc nor the Hero, just two people enamored in the tune their bodies made together. 

Then the Hero guided his hands down to the button of his trousers. 

And in one thunderstruck, sobering moment, the half-Orc remembered himself. 

“I- I can’t, I’m - I won’t -” Varrick’s words tumbled over themselves as he roughly pushed the Hero a safe distance away from his overheating body. He sat back on his haunches, breathing hard and feeling suddenly cold despite the sweat running down his back. _Just now…_ He’d almost… He had to get away before he - lost control -

“Hey…” The Hero’s voice, warm and smooth as honey, broke into his heated thoughts. “Relax. You can’t hurt me. You should know that by now. Besides, you weren’t even doing anything I didn’t like...” A hand caught his wrist and repositioned his palm across his host’s chest. Varrick could feel his heart beating underneath; elevated, but not spiraling wild. He was not afraid… but excited. “The real question here is: do _you_ want this?”

It made the half-Orc’s own heart thump harder in response. “I… I do!” He felt his face flush an even deeper shade of red, if that was even possible. How ludicrous he must look, monstrous Orcish features twisted in human embarrassment. “But I don’t know… how…”

The Hero smiled. “Don’t worry about that. Looks like I’ll be your teacher in this too…”

Everything that came after that was a blur to Varrick. 

He vaguely remembered the walls of the cottage falling away as they moved. The warmth of the Hero’s hand as he led Varrick into his bedroom, mirrored by the molten flame in his gut. 

The dizzying change in perspective as the Hero fell on the bed on his back without first letting go, so that the momentum sent the half-Orc stumbling down on top of him. 

Varrick panted down at the Hero. His host was sprawled across fine linen sheets, the buttons of his silken shirt ripped open to reveal smooth, unmarred skin the likes of which the half-Orc had never seen before. His golden curls fanned out behind him like a halo for his face, which did indeed look almost cherubic now with his cheeks dusted pink. For a moment he looked so much like an innocent who didn’t know what he was getting himself into that the half-Orc hesitated once more. But then the Hero smiled a sly smile; knowing, provocative.

This was no blushing maiden, no matter how much his looks resembled one.

The half-Orc gave in to his desires and stopped the Hero’s insufferably, endearingly smug smile with another open-mouthed kiss.

This time his host was happy to let his guest take the lead. Meanwhile his hands, never idle, glided subtly over Varrick’s broad shoulders and slid his worn woollen tunic from them. 

The Hero licked his tongue over the half-Orc’s misshapen canines. Varrick gave a full-bodied shudder which rippled down his spine, and had to restrain himself from collapsing his weight onto his host’s frame. 

His host pulled away slowly and peered up at his face through slyly narrowed eyes. “That’s enough foreplay for now, don’t you think?” Those blue eyes glittered with decadent promise as they winked up at him. 

Overwhelmed, the half-Orc could only nod wordlessly in agreement. 

His host eased him back up until he was at the edge of the bed, with the Hero himself on his knees on the sheets before him. Varrick felt his face grow hot once again as the Hero’s skillful fingers unfastened his lacings like it was the most natural thing in the world. It was still incomprehensible to him how anyone, much less this… self-proclaimed preternatural immortal, simultaneously the most beautiful and the strongest person he had ever met, would willingly do this - have _sex,_ that is - with a half-Orc like him.

The last lacings fell away untangled and Varrick’s cock bounced free, already half hard.

He had never been intimate with anyone before this; nor even had much opportunity for comparison by way of comradely company with the solitude he usually kept. But even so he knew that his size there was abnormal, too. 

It was too thick, too long; it spanned near the Hero's entire face as he sat back in revelation. 

But the Hero seemed neither intimidated nor put off. 

Varrick fidgeted under his teasing gaze, growing hot in consternation - and maybe something more pleasurable too. 

Just the warmth of his cheek against his cock brought the half-Orc a step closer to the edge. Varrick hazarded that he could probably come just by rubbing against him - if the Hero would submit to such a demeaning thing at all. The image itself made him flush anew. 

“Can - Can I -?” He stuttered, words failing under the litany of graphic possibilities his imagination provided.

The Hero’s blue eyes glittered with promise and - Varrick’s confused heart skipped a beat as he realized - his own excitement. “Oh, don’t worry, virgin boy. I can do everything you can think of - and more.” 

Then his host was leaning in to lick a firm line up his cock. The half-Orc shuddered at the sudden spike in stimulation, nearly spilling right then and there. “Ah - ah,” the Hero chastened. He circled a hand around the base of his dick. “Can’t have you - destroying my track record - of sexual excellence…”

Varrick was too busy hyperventilating at the sight and feeling of his host’s slender fingers around him to respond. Long as the Hero’s finely-shaped digits were, they barely closed in a circle around his length. 

When the words finally registered, he sputtered embarrassingly. “W- what? Track record? Who else have you been-” His question was choked off as the Hero wrapped his lips around his now fully erect cock and took him right down without warning. 

“...!!” Varrick bit down hard enough on his lip to draw blood. A frustrated growl rumbled in his chest as he tried to restrain himself from the instinctive drive to thrust, _hard,_ into the wet heat of his host’s mouth. It was almost too much just to look at him, rosy lips stretched obscenely wide, those eyes still staring straight up at him; knowing, proud, _aroused_. Resolutely, he clenched his hands into painful fists by his sides to stop himself from knotting them in the Hero’s bobbing head of hair. “Who… Who else do you mean?” He strained to ask. Anything to distract himself from spending right there and then.

“Now, now. It’s - ah, a little too early to get - possessive, alright?” His host replied between gasps of breath as he pulled off. “Well, it’s been a while after all…” He glanced down to examine a spot of white liquid left on his lip, making a mildly distracted noise. “Ah…” The half-Orc watched as he sucked it back into his mouth. 

Varrick couldn’t resist any longer. Reaching down to cup the Hero’s chin, he pulled him up to crush their mouths together. 

The inside of the Hero’s mouth tasted like it had mere minutes - had it only been minutes? - before, but this time with a new, unfamiliar addition. Was this… His own…? It tasted salty in a strange way, but… 

He didn’t dislike it either. 

Just like he didn’t dislike this - _kissing,_ either. In fact, he found himself enjoying wringing all kinds of desperate sounds from his host. Having the Hero under him drove the beast within him wild, but there was something intensely satisfying about hearing those sounds from his partner in this too, an act more about mutual pleasure than domination. 

Sounds of desperate _pleasure,_ the Hero reminded him, bringing a palm down to press against where he too was hard between his legs. Moving on instinct, Varrick massaged the bulge and was gratified to feel it twitch and fill against his hand. 

At length, the Hero pushed him back gently, but firmly. “That’s enough,” he gasped, falling back onto the bed with an endearing bounce that curved Varrick’s lips into a smile. Then he grimaced when his own ensuing impact wrenched an ominous-sounding groan from the bed. Something gave beneath their disproportionate combined weight. 

“Shit, I -” The half-Orc cursed, making to scramble off.

“Don’t - you dare -” The Hero panted, grasping onto his arm with one deceptively slender arm, and snapping his fingers with his free hand. “- Worry about _that_ now -!” A burst of sparkling magic flew from the tips of his fingers; the bed shifted again with a much-healthier-sounding creak. Absentmindedly, Varrick caught a passing spark. Its fire singed his knuckles with surprising intensity. 

That gave the half-Orc an idea. 

An idea which stuck in his head, even as the Hero began stripping away both of their clothes with flattering fervour. 

“Wait - let me try something -” Varrick insisted, temporarily ignoring his host’s bemused attempts to recapture his attention. 

When the Hero wouldn’t stay put, the half-Orc pinned his arms to the bed in a lockhold. With anyone else this would be a move worthy of the battlefield. But with the Destined Hero, Varrick knew that he could be swatted off like a fly at any second. 

Which meant that he had to test his theory out while the Hero was still curious enough to play along. 

Varrick focused his gaze back on his host - and promptly felt his throat run dry. 

Distracted in his thoughts, he hadn’t let himself look just for the sake of looking. But now that he was looking… Well, he couldn’t tear his eyes away anymore. 

He licked a line up the Hero’s faint abdominal muscles, then two; and watched in fascination as they grew more distinct as he clenched up with each drag of his tongue. His skin tasted of a thin layer of sweat and the forest. 

Varrick ran his tongue across his host’s torso in increasingly unbridled strokes; then, on impulse, flicked it over a pert nipple. 

The reaction was instantaneous. The Hero’s body shuddered and seized up, seemingly involuntarily. A strangled whine escaped his throat. Varrick stared at him, swallowing hard. He hadn’t known that men, too, could be sensitive there. His own had certainly never done anything for him on the rare times when his attempts at sexual release had been adventurous. 

The half-Orc stared down at him. His host lay spread under him, the backs of his hands covering his eyes. There was high color in his cheeks. His chest, hairless and smooth, was rising and falling from exertion. The lights cast gentle shadows across his defined collarbones and shoulders. Here was a being whom he knew to be far greater in power and destiny than himself. And yet this same being had chosen - out of his own free, uncoerced will! - to lie with him as an equal. He was so distracted by the sight before him that he barely noticed the electrifying sparks which crackled up and down the very structures of the room around them. 

“Stop teasing,” the Hero murmured, his face still hidden by his hands. But when he pulled them down Varrick saw that he was still smiling that infuriatingly knowing smile. 

Long legs hooked around the half-Orc’s waist, urging him close with naked intent. Once Varrick acquiesced into their trap, they cinched like a vise around him; until he was pulled flush against his host’s body.

“I… I don’t…” The half-Orc experienced another bout of embarrassment as he fumbled. “Uh, don’t you need -”

Laughing, the Hero guided his hand down to where he was already wet and open. “Don’t worry about so much, virgin boy. There are a few advantages unique to my non-human condition, after all…” 

Nevertheless, Varrick entered him slowly and cautiously. After the initial breach the Hero’s body sucked him in easily and eagerly; but still the half-Orc restrained himself. The tight heat of his partner’s insides felt amazing around him, and his dick remained full-blooded against his stomach. Varrick himself, despite the previous lull in proceedings, was closer than ever to the brink.

And yet he restricted himself to slow, shallow thrusts into his host’s willing body. There was still something he needed from the Hero first.

"You told me that there's no such thing as choice. But you asked me to choose if I wanted this. So don't you believe in free will after all?" Varrick asked, having finally bottomed out for the first time inside him. The wet heat around his dick felt incredible, and every fibre of his being urged him to throw aside all other thoughts and just _take, take, take -_

It took every last strand of his willpower to hold absolutely still. 

"That… Ha… That doesn't count, you idiot, shut up and - move!" The Hero replied, hastening to grind his hips against Varrick. But there was nowhere else to give or go; although his needy gasps and groans only added to the half-Orc’s mounting desire. Sweat dripped down the half-Orc’s forehead as he fought to remain still. 

Varrick tightened his grip on the Hero's thighs. "It does. No matter how small the choice, the effects of its divergence can ripple through time… That's what _I_ believe." He punctuated that last point with another sharp thrust. 

Hands came up and clawed at Varrick’s arms. A long, drawn-out whine lingered in the air as his host dropped back onto the sheets, having failed to tempt the half-Orc into a more punishing rhythm. 

"So believe with me. Believe _in_ me. Come with me to face the Forest King," Varrick whispered, his voice husky with a mixture of emotion and exertion. 

They repeated the pattern for another torturous few minutes. Each time, Varrick posed the question, and the Hero either ignored it entirely or tried to deflect answering. He tried his magic again, sending sparkles - which might have been painful in any other circumstances, but in this only terribly stimulating - tingling down the half-Orc’s arms and back. Each time, Varrick set his jaw and endured the sweet torment. 

Until finally, _finally_ \- the Hero gave way. 

“Okay, okay- fine -!” The Hero moaned, half in dramatic complaint and half in genuine passion. “I’ll - come - with you - to face, ah! The Forest King! Just - _move_ already, you manipulating brute!”

_Finally._

Having secured his promise, the half-Orc didn’t need to be told twice. It was as if the self-imposed dam in his mind had been broken. 

Groaning, the half-Orc gripped his host’s hips and started a pace that was twice as punishing to compensate for the restraint before. He made sure that the Hero could feel every inch of his engorged cock as he drove it into him single-mindedly. 

He was rewarded by his partner’s equal enthusiasm as the Hero met his thrusts with equal vigor. Even with the drawn-out foreplay that both had endured, they were both well on their way over the edge. 

When it came, Varrick’s orgasm was so powerful that it whited out his vision for a whole minute. 

When he slowly came back to himself, there was still a heavy ringing in his ears. He was floating in the pleasant haze of post-orgasm, but it was more than that. He felt… Light. Relieved. As if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. 

The Hero had gotten off of him and was sliding off the bed, still gloriously naked. A trail of thick spend was sliding down the inside of his slender legs. The half-Orc shivered as he felt a possessive pride take ahold of him. 

Then he remembered how he had even gotten into this situation, and the promise he had wrung out of the Hero.

For a second, panic overwhelmed Varrick. He used as much speed and force as he could muster to catch the leaving Hero’s arm, and only just succeeded.

“Where…” Varrick groaned, his tongue like lead in his mouth. “Are you going…? You promised…” It scared him himself how his voice sounded less angry than fearful. This was ridiculous. Sex with the Hero had been amazing, and it had been a first time he already knew he would always treasure; but that didn’t mean it meant the same way to his partner. 

He heard the Hero chuckle, and squinted to see his characteristic smile. Then his host was gently but firmly pushing his hand away. 

“Wait…” Varrick raised his voice to say. But he was too worn-out, after months of travel and hard-living, to be immediately reinvigorated after his body had finally had the chance to rest. Lethargy washed over him; and the world faded to black. 

Sometime later, in an indistinct twilight hour, he regained consciousness to the warmth of a body curled around him. Without opening his eyes, which felt glued shut to his lids with heaviness, he knew that it was the Hero. 

He had returned. Did that mean that he would keep his promise to face the Forest King?

Varrick didn’t know. And his body would not let him seek the answers his mind screamed at him to discover.

“Stop thinking so much,” he heard the Hero murmur, voice thick with sleep. “Trust me.”

“... How can I?” The half-Orc managed. "You won't even tell me your real name."

A pause. Varrick might have fallen back into sleep; he did not know. In those twilight hours time held no concept for him. He was the Half-Orc, back in the village as a child; he was the Half-Orc, a mercenary willing to do most anything for the right price. He was Varrick, whose sole purpose left was to die in battle; he was Varrick, his mother’s only son and hope. He was Varrick the half-Orc, who had fallen into the Destined Hero’s bed and wanted to stay there for time to come. 

"..." The Hero bent close to the half-Orc's ear to whisper his secret. "Sylvese. My true name is Sylvese."

-

The forests which the Northford guarded were thick and towering. With every step, the foliage grew denser, blocking out the last traces of light seeping through the gaps between the trees. The Hero made a face as he stepped gingerly around the obstructing flora in the way as they progressed. The half-Orc, on the other hand, used to tracking quarry in forests, soldiered on with a stoic front. 

They weren’t five minutes into the forest when the army materialized around them.

Orcs bigger and stronger than any Varrick had encountered before. Corrupted men holding bows taut with arrows, ready to fire at the first signal. And judging from their eager grins, the half-Orc got the idea that they would take the flimsiest excuse to act. 

But the biggest Orc among them - apparently the leader of the troupe - strode out of the ranks and held up a restraining palm. 

He spoke in their native tongue to the half-Orc. _The dread lord wants to see you._

Varrick tensed. That made no sense. He was a nobody, and unanticipated at that. The only reason the Forest King would want an audience with him instead of sending their soldiers to smite him down on the spot like any other intruder had to be… 

That they had gotten word of who his companion was. 

The Hero was giving him a meaningful side-glance. If he understood the Orc’s words, his showed no indication of it. _Shall I dispose of them?_

Varrick shook his head. _No._ If the Forest King wanted to see them, so be it. It actually worked out in their favor - instead of battling through scores of minions as he had envisioned, they would be getting a ticket straight to the endgame. 

The Hero shrugged. _As you wish, Varrick._ Turning to the leading Orc, he ordered with the air of a benevolent commander: “Take us to your master.”

-

The lair of the Forest King was truly a sight to behold. If Varrick had still entertained doubts about the nature of their being, they were soon dispelled. No mortal, human or Orc or anything in between, could have constructed something like this. 

Trees tall enough to puncture through clouds were bent at impossible angles to form a barrage of foliage which blocked out the sky entirely. Others, shorter but with wider trunks, formed the bulk of the architecture within the lair. The entire structure spanned what could reasonably be a small forest in itself. 

The Forest King themselves sat on the undisputed throne in the heart of the structure, on a wooden platform high above it all. Even from far down below, the half-Orc could sense an ominous, omniscient gaze boring into him. 

It followed him as they moved, a weight heavier than even the blade slung across his back. 

_No,_ Varrick corrected himself as they were escorted before the King. _Not sitting_. It was more as if the throne itself was a part of them; an overgrown mess of poisonous-looking plants and darkly colored flowers. The half-Orc could not tell where the throne ended and the King began. Vines sprouted from their shoulders and intertwined themselves into the back of the throne. Even the clothes - if pleated leaves and the occasional flower could be considered clothes - they wore appeared connected to the throne. _Rooted to the throne. Literally._

“There you are.” The Forest King spoke. Their voice was earthy and ethereal at the same time; a combination the half-Orc would not have thought possible if he were not hearing it for himself right now. 

Varrick swallowed and readied himself to draw his weapon at the slightest movement. 

"Forest King. My name is Varrick. I am here to avenge the realm for all the destruction you have wrecked upon us, and end your reign of dread.” They were words he had rehearsed hundreds of times before, when only the thought of honorable death against the ultimate enemy sustained him through sleepless, tormented nights. But now, with the Hero beside him, they sounded hollow and ridiculous even to himself. 

“Now, now, Varrick. Don’t get too full of yourself just yet,” the Hero interrupted. It was delivered in his usual joking tone, but when he stepped into view Varrick could sense the tension in his frame. 

The Forest King opened their eyes.

Red orbs of light bore out of the darkness of their face, illuminating a vague, dark form held together by more twisting vines. A full-bodied shiver racked Varrick’s body as he felt the heavy pressure on him compound. There was something _wrong_ about that gaze. Poisoned. 

But now he also saw that it wasn’t him the Forest King was focusing their gaze on. That honor went to the Hero. 

“The lost hermit. The Destined Hero. My old friend.” The Forest King paused. That unnatural gaze turned upon him fully. “And you’ve brought… a pet.” The dread lord made a gesture to the back of the hall. 

Dread weighed the half-Orc’s limbs down. Faster than Varrick could react, vines were slicing through the air towards him. 

They entangled around him within seconds. The half-Orc struggled violently, but to no avail. The vines were too thick for him to rip apart with his bare hands, and they had tightened too much for him to reach for his greatsword, which was effectively trapped at his side. A few particularly insidious strands weaved their way up to his head. 

Through the obstructing vines, he saw that the Hero had been overwhelmed by a force of Orcs and goblins who had responded to their master’s signal. The immortal was forcing them back in swathes of magical pulses, but their numbers were so numerous that he was momentarily trapped in their midst.

“Stop - What’re you - doing -!” Varrick’s defiant shouts were cut off as the vines hovering near his head dove down - _deep into his flesh._

The pain was instantaneous - and to the complete exclusion of all other sensations. His mind whited out. 

When he next came to consciousness, it was not to the physical world. Monstrous vines, bulging ominously with unknown poisons, encased everything around him. If their real-world counterparts had been immovable, these were practically choking him in their constricting inescapability. 

His breath - if any such thing could even exist in this realm of his mind - came in ragged pants. The darkness, the entrapment, everything about this place; it amplified his deepest fears and regrets while aggravating his darkest desires for revenge and violence.

It would be so easy… to just… let it all go blank. 

“Let him go, Forest.” 

That was the Hero’s voice, permeating through the vines with the echo of a sound coming from miles away. 

“Ah, ah -” The Forest King cautioned. His tone was light, a fact which only made the menace in it all the more foreboding. “Don’t be stupid - what was it they call you now? Oh, yes. ‘Hero’.”

Varrick panted as the pressure on him grew. It was all he could do to stay rational. The Hero. He needed him; even if was only his voice - He needed to hang onto something, a thread of the real world -

“Your little pet is under my control now. I suppose you could forcibly extract him from it - but I can’t say how much of him will stay in one piece after you rip him out of my vines…”

After what seemed like an agonizing eternity for the half-Orc, the Hero’s voice finally cut back in. 

“What do you want with him?” His voice was flat. “This is between you and I. No one else here is remotely worthy of a fight.”

The Forest King laughed, a booming sound that felt like an earthquake. “Getting protective, are we? There’s really no reason for you to be. Think about it this way: why do you think he - and the dozens of self-proclaimed avengers before him - came here? To fight a ‘worthy’ opponent? No. To seek revenge for his people? Not that either. 

In the end, when you look down to the root of it - heh - it’s always for the same one thing - glory. The glory of defeating a supernatural force destined to be indestructible. Well, let them cut themselves down then.”

“I… Came here to die…!” Varrick managed to spit out, with every speck of strength he could still muster. 

“As you will,” the Forest King promised. “You will die an honorable death as my representative Knight, in a fight-to-the-death against our greatest enemy, the Destined Hero.”

“No… !”

“You think you want to side with those humans? Remember how those villagers treated you all those years ago. Remember your mother! Now, now - Don’t lie to yourself. Those Orcs only did what was in their nature. Humans are their natural prey after all. True, all that miscegenation was a little… crass, but humans! It was her own kind that hurt your mother to the core, wasn’t it? Those villagers turned against her for something another kind inflicted on her. _They_ are the ones you should hate!”

The blood roared in Varrick’s ears, threatening to drown out the last straws of rationality he had clung on to. Hearing those words from the Forest King themselves, the master of all Orcs, was… disorientating to say the least.

“Don’t you want to punish them for it? You wanted to kill your father and his kind for what they did to your mother, didn’t you? Why should those human villagers escape your wrath then? Remember, Varrick - the blood of both races runs in your veins!”

“You’re right,” came the Hero’s voice. He sounded exceedingly calm. “He’s not human. Not fully. But nor is he an Orc of yours. Oh, I know to you and me they’re all the same; these humans, Elves, Orcs and goblins. What has birth, or race, have got to do with allegiance or ambition? But I have some idea of how these beings think now.”

“So. He’s half-human, half-Orc. Fate didn't force him into one camp, based on what their kind believe. That means he’s got a choice. _He_ taught me that. Now choose, Varrick. Will you stand with the Forest King, or with the Destined Hero?”

The dark fog that had clouded the battlefield in the physical world as the two immortals exchanged verbal blows slowly cleared. The half-Orc stumbled into view, lumbering with groggy steps. 

Both the Forest King and the Destined Hero waited with bated breath. Transcendent of mortal abilities as they were, they were still eager to see who would win their battle of wills. 

Their proxy for competition tarried between the two immortal beings, then started closing the distance towards the dread lord. The Destined Hero's smile faltered. 

Then Varrick stared up into the Forest King's incorporeal shadow. "Neither.”

“I choose Sylvese.”

With every drop of strength he could muster within him, mind and body, Varrick plunged his greatsword through the Forest King. 

The shadow shrieked in agony. 

Instantaneously, it dissipated into a hundred different wisps of shadow. The vines unraveled and fell to the ground, twitching like freshly severed appendages. 

But it was too late. Varrick’s surprise blow had dealt significant damage to the Forest King, and now the perfect balance between the two immortal beings’ powers had been broken. 

“You did well, Varrick.” The Hero’s voice was a whisper on the wind as he swept past the half-Orc, who had crumpled to the ground in exhaustion. Varrick closed his eyes, savoring the warmth the words and his brief presence gave him. 

After that the battle was swift and decisive. 

Dazed as he had been after his first encounter with the Hero, the half-Orc lay on the ground panting as the immortals crossed swords. 

Or rather, he watched as they matched powers in a battle that could be felt more than it could be seen. While the Forest King remained in their dissipated state, swirling around and diving in for attacks in that spiritual form, the Destined Hero maintained his corporeal form. 

Varrick’s eyes tracked them as they moved across the field. As the Forest King weakened, the foliage all around them weakened and rotted. 

It took most of his remaining physical strength to move to a safer spot before he fell through the cracks of the forest floor. He was too drained to do much more than repeat the Hero’s true name under his breath, as if it were some sort of charm for protection and victory. 

_Sylvese. Sylvese. Sylvese._

The clash between the two immortals intensified to a charged peak. Enduring a particular brutal blast of energy, the Hero’s frame shuddered. A spurt of golden blood trickled out from between his lips. 

But the Forest King was clearly worse for wear. Even without a recognizable corporeal form, Varrick could tell that their movements had been slowing and weakening. 

It took one last carefully-timed strike to decisively end the battle. 

With a wretched shriek, the Forest King’s dissipated parts were scattered to the winds as the immortal spirit lost the power to hold his form together. 

“It’s time to end this, Forest. Our time is over.” The Hero proclaimed solemnly as he stood over the fading shreds of the Forest King’s essence. Although wounded himself, he appeared rooted to the ground. 

The forest around them shook debilitatingly. Varrick struggled to prop himself up on an elbow. “Hero!” He shouted across the expanse which separated them. The Hero still stood unmoved, over the deanimated Forest King. There was no indication that he had heard anything. 

The half-Orc growled. “Damnit!” The Hero might have just destroyed the dread lord, but if he didn’t move anytime soon, he would be buried under the rubble their destruction was catalyzing. And immortal though he might be, Varrick didn’t relish the thought of digging both of them out of the wreckage. 

“Sylvese!” He shouted, starting to crawl towards him. Remaining vines and other sharp branches which littered the forest floor cut into him as he moved painfully slowly, but he gritted his teeth and continued. This amount of pain would be nothing next to being buried alive under all of this natural rubble. “Sylvese, we have to get out of here!”

The Hero spun around, blue eyes flickering about until they focused on the half-Orc’s form on the ground. A slow smile - which, although entirely inappropriate for the mortal danger they were still in, was absolutely beatific, Varrick had to admit - spread across his face. “I must insist that you always address me by that name from now on. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it…”

Varrick panted, shouting back. “You idiot! This place is going to collapse any minute now! We can save the thought for _later -!”_ Right on time, a tree pillar which had once held up the roof of the architecture crashed to the ground with a resounding thud. The resulting force sent shockwaves throughout the entire structure. 

“‘Later’?” The Hero repeated. “So there is to be a later? You’ve decided not to die, then?”

“What?” The half-Orc gasped with winded breath. “Yes, damn you!”

“Even though you will always be half-Orcian and half-human, and bear the heritage of both?”

The words flashed through Varrick’s mind, together with images of all that had led up to this moment in his life. _Did_ he want to live? Could he? What was waiting for him back out in the world? Beneath him, the ground shook with deadly premonition. 

And before him, the waiting immortal. Blond hair flying in the wind. Blue eyes staring unblinkingly, straight at him. That perfect face, tilted in a silent question. _I can’t make you live for me. But will you live _with _me?_

Everything blurred together into a single, exclaiming thought bursting to be released into the world. 

“Yes!” Varrick shouted in reply. “I want to live on, _damnit!”_

Sylvese’s face broke out in a tearful smile. The immortal turned his face to his sleeve. _Was he crying?_ Varrick almost laughed, until he reached up and found tear tracks on his own face. 

“Alright, Varrick.” Sylvese answered. “Then let us live on together.”

The immortal closed his eyes. Slowly, then swiftly all of a sudden, the half-Orc felt tremendous power run through every part of the crumbling structure, reinvigorating it with life and strength. Trees straightened out and branches stretched upwards once more. The forest floor settled and vines mended the gaps in the foliage as the sky was revealed once more, repairing and undoing the unnatural structure the Forest King had forced nature into simultaneously.

At length, the two lay in silence, side by side on the charred forest ground. Life was swiftly returning to the flora that surrounded them as the Forest King’s magic faded away. Their strength, however, would take just a bit longer to recover. Before that, they were content to stay where they were, soaking in the long-awaited, unprecedented peace. 

After a long moment, the Hero’s voice broke through the serene silence. 

“So… What are you going to do now that the King’s been defeated?”

“...”

“I hope you’re not thinking of dying again.”

“... I don’t know yet. But not that - I don’t think.”

“Well, don’t. You mortals’ lifespans are short enough already. I won’t have you leaving me any earlier than you have to.”

“... I can’t promise that. What happens for the rest of my life - that isn’t _all_ within my choice.” 

The Hero sighed theatrically. “You’re right. You don’t suppose I should call in a favor from my old master and grant you conditional immortality?”

“Immortality?” The half-Orc’s frown was visible in his voice. “And… why conditional?”

“Well, on the condition that you stay by my side, of course. It would cause me endless pain to see you spend eternity with someone else for company. Quite literally, in fact.” The Hero explained matter-of-factly. 

“...” Varrick let his silence express his opinion on _that_. “I’ll pass. Everlasting love? That’s a foolish thing to pledge. Even more foolish for a self-proclaimed immortal.”

The Hero let out another whimsical sigh, then nodded good-naturedly. “Fine. Immortality isn’t for everyone. Just don’t imagine you’re going to escape from me into the clutches of Death anytime soon. After that… I can be patient.”

“Until then... Let’s just see where our choices lead us, shall we?” 

“What’s the rush? We’ve only got our whole lives ahead of us…!”

-

The news that the Forest King’s influence was lifting across the land spread through the realm almost as fast as the grass grew green once more. Although no one knew what had caused the abrupt change, the people were grateful and embraced the Princess Consort’s explanation of the Destined Hero’s prophesied defeat of the dread lord with open arms.

Peace was restored, piece by piece and step by step. Amidst all of this, a couple of young men arrived in the Capitol. 

Though they both appeared to be young men, that was where their similarities ended. The two cut as different a figure as they possibly could. One was slender and ethereally beautiful. The other was stoic and of a size that suggested a non-human heritage. The couple rented a small villa on top of a scenic, sparsely populated hill. It was sure to be expensive; but the people of the Capitol never saw either of the two inhabitants engaging in any routines standardized enough to suggest stable occupation. That was how the rumor that they were members of the idle class who had eloped to live together began to spread.

The rumor was only fanned on by a sighting of the Princess Consort on a visit up the hill. As the ruler of the realm, her physical presence was proof of her favor. Henceforth the couple on the villa on the hill came to be regarded as reputable members of her Court, though no less mysterious. 

And today, as ever, the day in the villa began with Sylvese banging on the door to their bedroom with a creative variation of an annoyingly loud sound. 

Today, that involved a convoluted contraption which included multiple springs and a real cuckoo bird. Whatever it was, the din it created was enough to shake Varrick out of bed. 

“Sylvese, would you stop -” The half-Orc growled as he ruffled his short-shorn hair ten minutes later. He stepped into the living room, still bare from waist-up and yawning. 

“Good morning, loverboy,” Sylvese replied calmly, from where he was sitting at the dining table with plates of breakfast for two laid out before him. He gestured to the empty seat across him.

“... G’mornin.” Varrick grumbled. He couldn’t bring himself to complain when there was food ready to be eaten. Not so long ago he would never have dared to imagine himself ever living such a domestic scene. But Sylvese’s natural, matter-of-fact manner had melted his initial embarrassingly weeping gratitude into something even better: familiar comfort.

“You’ve got mail.” 

As Varrick flipped through leaflets of monster-hunting bounties - kindly collated by the Princess Consort, who found this arrangement rather beneficial for both of them, he sifted out the letters for Sylvese from his mysterious immortal acquaintances. 

Sylvese had begun signing his letters - when he bothered to write them, instead of magicking mailing pigeons to deliver his messages in fearfully human voices - with his true name. The Destined Hero was a title that would die with the Forest King. 

Finally, the half-Orc withdrew a particular sheet from the stack and set it down on the table decidedly.

“So?” The immortal lifted a perfect eyebrow at his lover. “Where are we off to today?”

**Author's Note:**

> CW: singular instance of implied rape/non-con of an off-screen character as part of backstory - I didn't manage to have time to email mods if u r ok with this, dear treatee! (as i didn't know until the last minute if this would be ready before reveals at all) 
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


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